Potent
by L. Hart
Summary: Intricate potions and a burgeoning attraction: Hermione and Snape at their best! He eyed her dispassionately...she was attractive. He was not attracted to her.
1. Chapter 1

A shrill giggle pierced through the muggy morning air. It penetrated through the last threshold of Hermione's peaceful slumber, sending her mind reeling back into consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, instantly assaulted by the thin beams of light filtering through the fluttering red and gold curtains. Her hands flew automatically to her small wooden nightstand and grabbed for her clock. The oddly glowing, magical dials pointed to 7:15 am. She grimaced and rolled back on to bed, wrapping herself in her cushy, maroon velvet comforter. It was Saturday morning. She had planned on sleeping in until about eight, eating a quick breakfast, and then spending the afternoon in the library. She was embarking on a fascinating History of Magic project for extra credit, and she had quite a bit of research ahead. She settled her head back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. Her muscles felt tense and her neck ached; she was rather exhausted from spending hours poring over obscure history books. It was worth it, she told herself. Professor Binns had remarked that any student who adequately completed the project could give a half-hour presentation in class. Thus far, in all of his years teaching both alive and dead, no one had succeeded. The combined stress of this, however, along with head girl duties, was making her rather tetchy.

Another bout of zealous giggles had Hermione sit bolt upright in bed once more.

"You two couldn't possibly keep it down, could you?" she asked crossly.

The two girls shot each other knowing looks and sniggered. "Hermione, don't you know what day it is?" Lavender whispered incredulously.

"I do know that as it's not yet 8 am, it's still technically quiet hours in the dormitory," Hermione stated primly.

"It's Valentine's Day!!!" Parvati squealed, throwing out her arms and knocking over an empty bottle of butterbeer.

"Well then." Hermione replied stiffly. "Could you please finish all that in the common room? You're being quite loud. Also, it smells."

Parvati sighed, exasperatedly. "Hermione…there are boys out there. We can't finish putting our outfits together in front of them!"

And sure enough, as Hermione glanced down she noticed a large pile of lurid pink and purple satiny material, covered in spangled hearts and baubles. A small silver cauldron frothing with light pink foam was perched haphazardly on top of a stack of what looked to be butterfly shaped valentine grams. It was emitting a most curious smell of eggs, butterbeer, and what looked suspiciously like newt eyes.

"Well, why don't you check? I'm sure it's empty, as most people are probably still _sleeping_. And what is that?!?"

"Crush cologne," Lavender announced proudly. "I read about it in Teen Witch Weekly. It's almost done brewing. You just spray some on your clothes and any boy within a ten foot radius will-"

"Alright," Hermione cut her off quickly. "Is that even allowed? Never mind. I don't want to know. I'm going to get a nip of breakfast. Just make sure none of that, er, stuff, spills," she said warily, as she watched a glob of congealed, murky pink foam slowly make its way down the base of the cauldron.

"Oops!" Lavender declared airily. "I'll just wipe that up." She proceeded to grab a sweater from her trunk and with a quick swoop the blob was gone. Hermione decidedly ignored the fact that the sweater in question was indeed one that she had lent to Lavender last Christmas; one which she had been told was lost. She proceeded to step over the pile on the floor and yanked open the dormitory door.

"Hermione! Wait! Want a spray?" Parvati called after her. "Ron won't know what hit him!" but Hermione had hastened her pace and was out the door before Parvati had finished speaking. "What's up with her," wondered Parvati.

Lavender giggled.

Lunch was a crowded and noisy affair. The excitement was palpable, especially from the exceptionally giggly female population. Lavender and Parvati were noticeably absent, after having sprayed on copious amounts of crush cologne both girls had promptly sprouted antlers. They were presumably going to spend the duration of the holiday holed up in the hospital wing, whispering furiously from behind thick bed curtains. Hermione felt a slight release from the ever-present tension in her shoulders, but was still mildly wary. As head girl, her unspoken duties included patrolling the corridors and secret pathways every so often to break up lover's trysts. It was not a duty that she particularly enjoyed, and she found the incessant gossiping and giggling that accompanied the holiday to be quite bothersome. Her sole consolation, she thought, as she slid into the space between Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table, was the near-empty library that was sure to await her.

"Tripe, 'Mione?" Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder and pushed a heavy ceramic dish down the table towards her.

"No thanks," she replied briskly, beginning to flip through her homework planner while making tiny notations of the upcoming day's tasks. She tried to push the look on his face out of her mind. He had stared at her blatantly, half exasperated, half pleadingly.

Harry shifted awkwardly between the two. "Um, so are you guys goin' to Hogsmeade today? Fred and George owled me last week saying that Zonko's had some new stuff we might like." Ron's eyes brightened and he and Harry began to excitedly discuss the new range of secrecy detectors and other products in Zonko's 'auror-junior' line. Hermione inhaled slowly in relief, and refocused her attention on attempting to spoon eggs into her mouth while jotting down study plans. Last week Ron had cornered her in the common room, blushing furiously, and asked her if she wanted to go with him to the Valentine's Ball. She had half expected it, yet had still been slightly speechless.

"Oh Ron! Well, then, I suppose so," she had replied cautiously, watching his face relax into a huge grin and hearing his audible exhalation of relief. It was appropriate, she had rationalized. It was what everyone had expected and anticipated. She should have been pleased that Ron had taken the first step towards what seemed like their inevitable coupledom. She had always imagined love to be a strong sense of obligation and loyalty, much like her relationship with Ron already consisted of. A romantic endeavor was just a logical extension of that friendship.

But a slight niggling feeling and a tiny voice in her head wondered if this was what she wanted, or what everyone else expected. Because Ron didn't understand how it felt when her fingers trembled as they traversed the pages of a well-worn book, the comfortable glow in the pit of her stomach as she absorbed knowledge…There were so many things to _know_ and she felt so fresh and new when she thought about the great tomes of magical theory and ancient history that she had yet to peruse. She would hang on to every sonorous word her professors uttered, mentally cataloguing it into her budding chasm of knowledge. It made her feel the most like herself, when her mind was singularly focused on a single subject, so that every pore in her body was attuned to experiencing the information. It was often joyous, when her mind honed onto a previously ignored connection, or when she found loopholes to explore. It was also fantastically frustrating when she hovered on the edge of making some keen realization or solidifying a particular theory. This would impact her mood, she knew, and would sometimes become short with Harry and Ron, or act somewhat absentminded. It was something Ron didn't understand, and in some ways, she felt years distant from him. He existed solely in a physical, immediate sense, his mind a linear road towards instant gratification. Lately, spending too much time with either him or Harry was making her feel mildly anxious and somewhat stifled. Whether it was their impending graduation, or the strain of the looming final battle, Hermione was feeling decidedly more edgy these days.

Ron swallowed a large gulp from his jug of pumpkin juice and started to get up from the table. "There's me all done, then. You guys coming? Dean and Seamus are starting a game of Exploding Snap in the common room before we leave for Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, I'm in," Harry grinned, shoveling the last of his lunch in his mouth. "Le's go!"

"Hermione?" Ron asked again, tentatively. After she had agreed to accompany him to the dance, he had seemed to waver back and forth between thinking that he was her boyfriend, and thinking that she was a three-headed dog that would lunge at any moment.

"No, you go ahead. I have some stuff to do in the library before I get ready for tonight. Besides, I'm abysmal at exploding snap. I'll meet you in the common room at six?"

"'Kay," Ron grinned sheepishly and headed for the door leading out of the great hall, Harry in tow.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus Snape was pacing. It wasn't common that he became agitated over a potion, whether rare and fantastically fickle or not. He neither enjoyed brewing potions, nor despised it. He accepted his gift, he acquiesced to it. They were strange bedfellows; potion making was an entity to which he felt distinctly merged yet somehow separate. He rarely spared conscious thought on the process itself. Rather, his calloused fingers, precise and methodical, chopped and weighed and stirred and stoppered. Potion-making's one saving grace was the mental respite it bestowed. The mechanical nature of the entire process allowed his psyche to subdue slightly, for just those few hours.

This potion was different. It represented an adaptation of a common enough potion, an Intensifying Solution. A well-brewed Intensifying Solution would noticeably enhance the results of any potion into which it was added. A few drops could elongate the effectiveness of any anti-pain potion, or even augment the Polyjuice Potion so dramatically that the drinker would not only take on the desired appearance, but have insight into the subject's mind as well.

Severus had intended to extract the chemical components of the Intensifying Solution that adhered to the secondary potion, thus allowing for an enhanced outcome. Upon extracting these components, he anticipated a way in which to devise an incantation with similar results- an incantation which would increase the breadth and scope of one's spells and charms. His research thus far represented months of calculations and painstaking observations along with numerous failures and successes. A discovery of this magnitude, he imagined, would be of immeasurable importance to both those fighting for and against the Light.

Yet Severus was tired. As usual, the incompetence of the dunderheads that he was responsible for educating was wearing on his patience. This, combined with Albus' insurmountable tasks, had him increasingly aggravated. He was sharper than ever towards his students, and his biting comments had sent many a first year fleeing from the dungeons in tears. He couldn't recount the number of angry admonishments that Minerva had sent his way. Even his own House was wary of his presence. The last time he had stepped foot into the Slytherin common room, a nitwit second year had actually wet himself.

Severus stalked over to his desk and began to sift restlessly through the stack of un-graded scrolls on his desk. All "Poor" marks, no doubt. From the rubbish he had been receiving from his O.W.L. students, he imagined that he would see few of their faces in his N.E.W.T. level class. The proverbial silver lining, he thought with a sigh- although Albus would most certainly not be pleased. He had as much as mandated a three-quarter pass rate from the Potion Master's classes. When Severus had pointed improbability of this goal, as only a handful of his students were even performing at an Acceptable level, Albus had smiled mischievously and suggested offering extra credit. Severus grimaced as he imagined spending his weekends supervising students scrubbing out cauldrons and disemboweling toads.

Yet his stagnating research was not the only troublesome worry on his mind. Albus had summoned him into his office a fortnight past. Semi-delirious from wafting in potion fumes half the previous night, he had had stumbled into the circular office, half-expecting to be relieved of his duties. Albus had sat there sanctimoniously, in his plush purple armchair, and given Severus a horrific task. Disappointed with the minimal progress in the potion, Albus had gently impressed upon the urgency of such a discovery, and 'suggested' that Severus take on an assistant of sorts. After an angry retort, Severus had stormed out of the office, appalled at the old man's audacity. Now, however, though it pained him to lend credence to the suggestion, Severus realized much of the mundane research tasks like documenting hourly changes in the potion's consistency could be handled by a N.E.W.T. level student. This would free him up to engage in the delicate precision tasks the potion required, as well as catch up on his grading. Yet a strong penchant for working alone and certain contempt for associating with students beyond class hours was making him hesitant.

He spun his quill listlessly between his fingers, and held it poised over a jar of blood-red ink. But he could not quite bring himself to begin doling out spiky red "D's" and "T's". Instead, he slid open a small, battered desk drawer and removed a sheet of aged parchment, embossed with the colorful Hogwarts crest.

---

"He's looking for a what?!?"

"An apprentice, I s'pose. It's what the posting read; someone to help with the brewing of an experimental potion."

"An apprentice? Snape? Like anyone'd wanna spend extra time with that greasy 'ol git."

"An apprentice? Most certainly not. 'Apprentice' implies a certain level or skill and respectability. I, am looking for a laborer."

---

"Now Severus," Dumbledore chuckled. "Call it what you will, but I must commend you in your decision to accept my advice. Now I must say, there are several bright young students in your 7th year N.E.W.T. class. Ernie Macmillan, smart and diligent boy; and I believe several of your own House have shown promise? A certain Blaise Zabini?" The Headmaster tone became slightly wistful. "I did know the lads mother...and we can't forget Miss Granger, of course. Top of her class, indeed."

Severus stood quickly, knocking over a tin of caramels on the Headmaster's desk. "By gods, Albus! That incipient Hufflepuff? The insufferable know-it-all Granger? Or worse yet, the aloof and entirely conceited Zabini, whose head has grown so large he will soon have trouble fitting through the door of my classroom?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, do be reasonable. I merely mentioned the most talented of our young potion makers. Be mindful of the reason for this conversation in the first place. I see the ache in your eyes, my friend, and the tension in every pore. Was it unjust of me to attempt to alleviate the strain in your soul?"

"Albus…" Severus gritted, fighting to keep control of his thinning temper, "Spare me…I will acquiesce to your desires, as always. I will review the submitted applications, and keep your recommendations at the forefront of my mind."

"Well then!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Terrific. I must say I am pleased, Severus. Do carry on! Come to me by week's end with your choice. Oh, and on another note, be sure to turn in early tonight. It _is _Valentine's Day, and I believe the students deserve to let loose a bit without, er, harsh consequences." With that, Dumbledore lowered his glasses and gave Severus a pointed look. "Madam Hooch will be in charge of patrolling the corridors tonight."

"But of course." Severus inclined his head politely, an ingratiating smirk stuck on his face, and spun out of the room cloak billowing behind him.


End file.
